Orange Tree
by numbuh44
Summary: Chase, he uses his cooking to seclude himself. Angela, she's the one who saves him. But what happens if Chase lets his irrational thoughts get in the way? One-shot for now.
1. Chapter 1

**WOW IM SO SORRY ITS ONLY BEEN 3 YEARS ITS FINE_**

Cooking. This wasn't just a hobby but a lifestyle. Cooking is the light that helps me through the hardships, through the loneliness.

I grew up without anyone, so the idea of needing someone now was irrelevant. I could easily make it on my own. As long as I could cook, that is.

Day after day, I stood in front of a stove using the repetitive task of cooking to relax myself. At times, I would make idle conversation with a customer, nothing too extravagant.

Sometimes, people would try and pry. They'd ask me open ended questions in hope that I might break my shell little by little. However, as soon as they resolved to prying, I would quickly reach into my arsenal of cynicism and sarcasm to push them even further away.

And once they were far from me in spirit, they would reach out one more time, with one last sentence of compassion. They would bring up the unthinkable, the unspeakable.

They'd look up at me with caring eyes and they'd let the poisonous words drip effortlessly from their tongue. Unknowing of the heart retching pain they caused.

"Chase, you need to move on. That's what your parents would have wanted for you."

That simple sentence would send my mind into a spiral, sending me farther into myself, causing me to aloof myself even farther. How could they know what my parents wanted for me? I can't even know what my parents would want. What makes them special enough to know?

My replies would normally vary from ignoring them to kicking them out of my kitchen. But now, it seems I have found a new habit, a very uncomfortable habit.

More and more I'd find myself stomping down a familiar path towards two doe eyes that I'd become accustomed to. I would come and sit, motionless, under her orange tree. Listening, listening to Angela talk and sing as cheerfully as ever as she worked on her farm.

The reason I always come back is because was because she never pried. She never spoke the unthinkable. She always seemed to accept me, one way or another. She saw nothing wrong when I isolated myself when I cooked.

Soon I found myself visiting the brown-eyed farmer on a regular basis. She never seemed to mind, probably because I'd favor her with my extra ingredients and leftovers from lunch. She, in return, would allow me to stay as long as needed, and she still never pried.

Almost as if she never cared. She never asked about my feelings, or my dreams. She only talked about herself. I found myself in a mass confusion. I was beginning to get furious at this woman. Why didn't she pry? Why didn't she speak the unthinkable? Was I not worth her efforts?

I was tail spinning, going nowhere good fast. I began isolating myself once more, even from Angela. I watched her from a distance as she would come into the bar, day after day, reaching out to me with her eyes, because she dared not speak to me.

Being the smart woman she is, she realized her efforts of reaching me were futile and soon gave up. It had been weeks since I'd last seen the farmer and the next time I saw her she had a new friend, a new person to talk to.

I had been replaced.


	2. Chapter 2

**OMG HAII If there is anyone still out there I hope you enjoy this. I guess this might just be a short 3 parter? Who knowwws**

As the summer month droned on I watched with growing sorrow as the orange tree, the one I where used to lay my worries, began to wilt, And I watched as it slowly was replaced with a blood red crop.

The farmer was as cheerful as ever. She still sang happily and talked about her dreams while she farmed. The only difference was that I wasn't there to listen. Instead my place was taken by a blond cowlick.

The only communications I had with her now were the times when I walked to and from work. And even then that only meant that I was able to hear her voice. I became more and more uneasy. Cooking was starting to fade. It lost its relaxing qualities. And it became the long drawn out time in between my chances to hear Angela again.

Some days I would watch as the other sat and listened to her, enjoying the fruits of her labor. Eating a tomato as she sang. Watching as she let her imagination run wild.

And my heart would sink lower and lower as I watched Angela's distant look that was always playing on her features become a look that was always fixated on him.

There was a night in particular that I could not handle. My heart was heavy with loss. Saturated to the point of bursting. The door of the bar chimed, but I thought nothing of it. I just did my job and cooked the orders I was given.

My ears perked, however, when I heard Angela's familiar sing song voice. But this was nothing special. Almost everyone in town visited every once in a while. She was probably just hungry. That is what I made myself believe until the bitter truth sank in. Against my better judgment I looked up and watched as Angela walked in with Gill in tow. Both of them adorning wide playful smiles.

My fist clenched and I quickly dropped my eyes down to watch my work. My cooking. It always relaxed me. And it did. The repetitive task of cooking had me at ease, except for a small voice nagging at the back of my brain.

A voice that I could ignore at first, but with each giggle from Angela the voice became more hostile.

"That could have been you." It whispered in my ear.

"You know you wanted that to be you." As if continued I felt a weight getting heavier on my shoulder. Pushing me as far down as it could muster.

"There is no use in lying to yourself anymore."

"You lost your chance anyway."

The weight became too much to bare. I dropped the pan I was holding and brought my hands to my hair. I felt everyone's eyes fixate on me. Chase. The cook. Why would the cook ruin his own food?

My hands deftly started ripping at my hair. My bobby pins were long forgotten and I felt myself sink down to the floor.

"Chase?!"

It was Angela. Or at least I hoped it was. The voices in my head were too loud to think over.

"Chase."

Her voice was quieter this time. With all the strength I could muster I looked up into big brown eyes. Big, worried, eyes.

I opened my mouth, but I felt my voice cracking under the pressure so I stood up quickly and threw my apron down before running out of bar. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, hoping that I could leave the voices, and her worried eyes, behind.


End file.
